


Ball and Chain

by the_deep_magic



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, Domestication, Established Relationship, Genderplay, Lingerie, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-14
Updated: 2010-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day on set, Zach comes home to a meal cooked by Chris.  Simple, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ball and Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the genderplay square on my Kink Bingo 2010 card.

1 new message from Captain Fine:  
 _I’m making dinner – call if you’re going to be late._

It’s a pretty innocuous text, all things considered.  If anyone got a hold of Zach’s phone, they probably wouldn’t think anything of it.  Maybe a quick laugh, a dig about “the wife” waiting for him at home.  Zach’s gotten that one before, and he knows they’re joking.  Especially if they know Chris, too – the guy’s still an overgrown college kid at heart, and sure, he’s completely smitten with Zach, but he’s got to be a long way from settling down.

Zach will smile, roll his eyes.  Sometimes he’ll come back with something witty, but if anyone were to pay attention, they’d notice that he remains in a nearly unshakeable good mood for the rest of the day.  Lighting or sound issues, weather delays, blown takes – nothing can get to him after a simple message like that.  At the end of the day, though, he heads for his car a little quicker than usual.  And if he’s going to be late, he calls.

Luckily, after this particular text, the day goes smoothly and Zach is pulling out of the lot a few minutes after seven.  He catches the tail end of evening traffic, which still nearly doubles his driving time, but all Zach does is roll down the windows and enjoy the cooling air as the sun goes down.  There’s no rush – Chris knows how long it takes him to get home.

Still, though, he’s entirely ready to get the hell out of the car by the time he pulls into the driveway.  As he turns the key in the front door lock, he hears Noah scrambling on the hard wood to get to the door and makes a mental note to clip his nails later.  He’d ask Chris to do it, but Chris once trimmed a nail too close to the quick and made Noah bleed, and now he’s so shy with the clippers that he might as well be giving the dog a manicure for all the good it does.

Noah is all over Zach the second he opens the door, and Zach takes the time to kneel down and give him a good, thorough scratch behind the ears before heading to the bedroom.  There, he kicks off his shoes in the closet and untucks his shirt.  The clothes he’s in are already pretty comfortable, so no need to change; he’s actually got slippers and a smoking jacket that Kristen gave him as a gag gift, but that’s overkill, really.  He looks in the mirror, rethinks it, and tucks his shirt back in.  He wants to stay presentable.

The smell of food draws him out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen, though he stops at the pantry to fill Noah and Harold’s dishes.  Only now does the cat deign to poke his head around the corner and allow Zach a few strokes across his back on his way to the food.  Zach chuckles and stands, finally heading into the kitchen where Chris is likely putting the finishing touches on dinner.

It’s quite the domestic scene – a roast in the oven, Chris stirring a pot of vegetables on the stove.  The four-inch patent leather heels, though, those are somewhat less housewife.  As is the miniskirt, so scandalously short that Zach can tell the black lace stockings are thigh-highs.  The top is new – Zach pauses to wonder where Chris has been hiding it, or whether he just went out today and bought it on impulse.  It’s red and silky-looking and fits him perfectly, and Zach has no idea where Chris finds these things.  He doesn’t ask, though; some things are better left mysterious.

“God, that smells fucking fantastic,” he says, placing his hand on the small of Chris’ back and kissing his cheek.

Chris sighs and turns his head for a proper kiss, leaving a faint lipstick print on Zach’s mouth.  “Glad you’re home – my feet are killing me.”

Zach chuckles lightly and edges his hand down towards Chris’ ass.  He barely gets a good squeeze in before Chris is swatting his hand away with a flirtatious smile.  “Do I ever let you have any before dinner?”

“No harm in trying,” Zach says, then goes for the silverware drawer while Chris finishes up.  He bypasses the collection of plastic forks and spoons for the real silver, then digs around a bit until he finds the cloth napkins.  The dining room table still has a stack of Chris’ scripts on it – they usually just eat dinner on the couch, but on nights like these the gentility is half the fun. 

With the table cleared and set, Zach returns to the kitchen to help Chris bring the pots and pans to the table.  He’s pretty damn nimble in those heels, but Zach knows he’s also spent too long on the food to risk dropping it on the carpet.  Chris carefully hands over the knife and Zach carves into the meat, so tender it barely needs to be cut, while Chris ladles out potatoes au gratin and green beans across two plates.

They’re both so hungry that the first few minutes pass in silence, though Zach can’t help but sigh happily as he tastes the roast.  “Oh my god, this is delicious.  New recipe?”

Chris grins and shyly tucks a few loose strands of the soft, brown wig behind his ear.  “Yep.  I’d love to say it’s some kind of Pine family tradition, but I owe it all to Google.”

Another few quiet moments before Chris gasps, “Oh, shit, I forgot the wine!”

“I’ll get it,” Zach says, standing quickly.  He finds the bottle that Chris had already set out on the kitchen counter and brings it back along with two long-stemmed glasses.

“Not too much,” Chris says as Zach pours.  “I may, uh, have already had a little while I was cooking.”

“Define ‘a little,’” Zach chuckles.

“Hey, I learned my lesson after the incident with the crème brulee torch and the cooking sherry,” Chris retorts, drawing himself up straighter in his chair.  He’s pouting a little, but his eyes are twinkling with mischief.  His long lashes have been daubed with just the tiniest bit of mascara – just enough to make his already mesmerizing eyes even harder to look away from.  As Zach sits back down, he subtly tugs at his pants, which seem to have grown tighter in the past few minutes.

Zach forces himself to eat slowly and enjoy every bite – it’s not often they have the time to do this.  As it is, Chris must have had at least one meeting cancelled to have been able to cook dinner and get ready.  Zach asks him, and sure enough, the director he was supposed to meet with had suddenly decided that he needed to fly to India immediately.

“The connection was bad, so I didn’t get all of it, but in essence I think he felt the urgent need to consult with his guru face-to-face about his interior decorating plans,” Chris groans.

“Wow,” Zach says with a laugh.  “I know I have my moments, but if I ever get that bad, just take me out back and shoot me.”

“It’s a deal,” Chris says, sliding the fork between his full lips and Zach watches, rapt, as he pulls it out again.  A spark of excitement zips down Zach’s spine and he has to clear his throat and adjust himself again before he can keep eating.

When Zach has finally sopped up the last of the au jus with his bread, he looks up to see Chris watching him patiently.  He rises and helps Chris carry the dishes back to the kitchen, where they wordlessly go about the process of scooping the leftovers into Tupperware and putting them in the fridge.  Zach starts to wash out the pan, but Chris lays a light hand on his forearm.  “Just let it soak.  We can deal with it later.”

Zach doesn’t need any more convincing.  He quickly dries his hands on the dish towel and follows Chris, who has already started to make his way out of the kitchen.  Zach’s eyes trace the seams up the back of the stockings from Chris’ ankles, up his lean calves to the thicker muscles of his thighs, up to the rather sorry excuse for a skirt where his hips are swaying slightly with each step.

He can hardly wait until Chris is through the door of the bedroom to spin him carefully around and pull him close for a kiss.  With Chris in heels and Zach barefoot, the height difference is pronounced and it makes Zach feel strangely vulnerable as Chris tilts Zach’s chin up and licks down into his mouth.  The lipstick is mostly gone from dinner, and beneath the lingering flavors of garlic and spice, Zach can taste the thick, familiar heat of Chris’ mouth.

They undress each other slowly, savoring every inch of exposed skin.  Zach’s shirt is pulled over his head and left pooled on the dresser.  He briefly struggles with the unfamiliar closures at the front of Chris’ blouse until the other man chuckles softly and brings his hands up to help.  Between the two of them, they manage to get the shirt open and Zach pushes the soft, slippery material back off Chris’ shoulders and down his arms, his palms never losing contact with Chris’ skin.

The wig is the next to go; it looks amazing, but it doesn’t feel nearly as good as the softness of Chris’ real hair, short as it is at the moment.  It never stays on, anyway.  Zach sets the wig reverently on the Styrofoam mannequin head on the dresser and Chris reaches for Zach’s glasses, placing them on the dresser with equal care.

Chris places a hand firmly on Zach’s shoulder to allow him to balance while he pulls the shoes off one at a time.  He sighs with relief as his feet touch the ground again, and as he goes to put the shoes away in the closet, Zach makes quick work of his jeans.

The skirt slides off as soon as Zach undoes the zipper – Chris really doesn’t have the hips to hold it up, anyway.  Now down to just his underwear, Zach perches on the edge of the bed as Chris comes to stand in front of him, lifting one leg to rest the ball of his foot on the bed.  Now Zach pauses to tease a little, pushing the tip of his finger beneath the stocking and running it against the skin of Chris’ thigh.  It’s quite a contrast, this soft, impractically fragile fabric encasing the hard muscle.

Chris chuckles softly.  “ _Zach_ ,” he quietly admonishes, and Zach, chastised, carefully unclips the stocking from the garter belt and begins to roll the flimsy, lacy material down Chris’ leg, stopping every few inches to press a kiss to the bare skin.  Once he’s pulled the stocking off completely, Chris shifts to move but Zach holds him there for a moment, running both hands the entire length of Chris’ leg, feeling the soft hair spring up against his fingers.

Then he lets go and Chris switches legs, allowing Zach to repeat the ritual.  It’s not until both legs are bare that Zach allows himself to notice the growing bulge in Chris’ briefs.  He stands for another kiss, this one level again and full of impatient desire.  Chris smiles against his mouth and starts moving them both back toward the bed, pausing only to shed his underwear and the garter belt.  Zach does the same and then it’s just them, no costumes or barriers, the only lingering reminder a smudge of lipstick and a little mascara.

Zach scoots back on the bed and spreads his legs for Chris to lie between them.  They just kiss for a long time, Zach enjoying the weight of Chris pressing him into the bed until he needs more.  He lifts his knee to press against Chris’ side, realigning their hips so their erections are pressed together and Chris shivers, rocking down.  It feels fantastic but it’s not what he needs, and Zach tears his lips away from Chris’ mouth long enough to gasp “ _Please_!” in his ear.

Chris thrusts a few more times, a gentle tease, before reaching over to the nightstand for the lube.  Zach could take him as he is, but Chris takes the time to stretch him first, readying him until he’s panting with need.  “C’mon,” Zach moans and Chris accedes, lining up for a slow push into Zach’s willing body.

As soon as Chris is buried completely, Zach tugs him down, needing as much skin contact as possible.  At first, there’s a little too much friction, but soon they both start to sweat from the motion and the heat and the slide of their bodies gets easier.  Chris’ rhythm is steady, his cheek pressed against Zach’s so he can hear the other man’s breath gusting hot against his ear.  Zach crooks a knee, lifting his leg again to try and pull Chris deeper.  It’s good, the head of Chris’ cock nudging against his sweet spot, but it’s not enough, not quite.

“Let me, _oh_ ,” Zach starts, losing his train of thought briefly before trying again.  “Let me get on top?”

“Yeah,” Chris replies breathlessly, pulling out and rolling them both over.

Zach straddles him and wastes no time sinking onto his cock and yeah, there’s the feeling he was after.  Chris’ legs come up behind him as a backrest and Zach has the fleeting thought that next time, he’s going to ask Chris to keep the stockings on, just to see what they feel like rubbing against his back, maybe even wrapped around his waist.  He trembles a little at the thought and Chris sees it, crying out softly as he rocks his hips up to meet Zach’s thrusts.

Chris hand comes up to grip Zach’s cock, stroking it roughly, and the end is quickly approaching.  It’s too good to go on much longer, this combination of thrust-push-pull that’s rapidly tightening the coil deep in Zach’s gut.  When he finally comes, it’s like the last in a series of falling dominoes: the hand supporting his weight slips and his rhythm falters, causing Chris to let out a choked gasp and thrust up hard, a hand coming up to wipe the sweat from his face that smears the remaining mascara, making his eyes look dark and wild and Zach clenches his own hand around Chris’ fist as his climax overtakes him.  He’s still riding it when Chris stills beneath him and comes with a hoarse shout, the fingers still around Zach’s oversensitive cock gripping him too hard and just right.

They’re a complete mess when it’s over –shaky-limbed, sweat and cum smeared between their bodies – but neither makes a move to clean up.  Zach cups Chris’ cheek, his thumb wiping at the black smudges around Chris’ eyes but only spreading it around farther.  “So, so gorgeous,” he whispers.

Chris nuzzles into his palm and kisses it.  “Good to know the magic’s not gone.”

Zach imagines sitting on a therapist’s couch next to Chris, all dolled up, and listening to advice about “rekindling that spark,” and laughs.


End file.
